


Remedial Training

by umbrafix



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Light-Hearted, Season/Series 01, Team, Teambuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrafix/pseuds/umbrafix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team gets ‘made’ on one too many surveillance missions, and Red feels he has to step in to protect Lizzie’s safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Teamfic with hints of Lizzington (not more than you find on the show, but I'm sticking it in the Red/Lizzie category anyway), set between 1x07 Frederick Barnes and 1x08 General Ludd. I’ve invented an extra blacklister in there for my own convenience. Because, seriously, they’re getting noticed by suspects in so many episodes. They should be deeply shamed. I’m seriously doubting their credibility at this point, so it’s not hard to imagine that Red would too.

“This is becoming a problem, Harold.”

 

The warning note in Red’s voice had Liz turning from her position at the evidence board. They were gathered back at the Post Office after their latest operation to apprehend a lead had gone south. Patrick Burns was supposed to be giving them the whereabouts of their current blacklister, but he’d spotted them coming and shot his way out.

 

Liz was sporting bruises down most of her right side where he’d slammed her heavily into the wall, and a bump on the head which wasn’t making her work any easier. Another agent had a minor bullet graze to one arm. Everyone else had thankfully escaped unharmed – he’d been more interested in getting away than in shooting them.

 

Still, now that Burns was in the wind they either need to track him down again or find an alternative contact.

 

She started forward. “Reddington, we need a way to-“

 

“Not now, Lizzie,” Red cut her off without even looking at her, slightly curt. She stood stock still for a moment, stymied, before closing her mouth. “Harold, we need to talk,” he said severely.

 

“Oh?” Cooper asked blandly, turning to raise an eyebrow at him.

 

Ressler and Meera looked on with interest, and Liz moved closer to them. “Looks like Reddington’s on the warpath,” Ressler muttered quietly.

 

Reddington’s briefcase was placed on the table, his hat set atop it. He took the time to glance at Ressler and Meera for a moment, eyes skipping straight over Liz, and then turned back to Cooper.

 

“We have an arrangement,” he said gravely. “I bring you names, I facilitate finding them, you take them down. Except I’ve been noticing a pattern. What actually happens is, I bring you a name, I suggest how to go about capturing them, your men _inevitably_ get spotted tailing a person of interest, and then I have to go about using up an ever dwindling pile of favours to retrieve your operations from the garbage heap. I feel like you just aren’t holding up your end of the bargain.”

 

"Burns was –“

 

“Patrick Burns was only the latest in a string of abysmal failures on your part. Shall I name a few? Gina. The Courier. Wujing. That’s just off the top of my head, but four names is a trend, Harold. Your surveillance techniques are a joke, and not a particularly funny one.” Red gave a brief smile that was practically a grimace, and a mild tic appeared in his cheek. “Where’s the evidence of this much vaunted academy training you’re all supposed to have? Or is it just not up to the task?”

 

He still hadn’t looked at Liz.

 

Cooper cleared his throat and stared Red down. “We are working in extremely difficult situations in which you rarely provide us with all the information.”

 

“And now the excuses start.” Red flashed him another tight smile. “I’m not interested. This is what it comes down to - I will find myself extremely reluctant to suggest certain avenues to you if I don’t believe that your agents are capable of simple surveillance missions. As a result, blacklisters may be lost.”

 

“What are you saying?” Ressler moved forward aggressively. “If you won’t work with us, then your deal-“

 

Red chuckled, as though he found Ressler’s posturing hilarious, and Liz noticed his muscles unwind a little. It was only the contrast that made her realise how tense he’d been when he came in. “Calm down, Donald, I’ve been having far too much fun with you all to call this off now. No, I’m suggesting that you need _remedial training_. Every agent who will be sent out on surveillance related to our little arrangement needs to be vetted by my team.”

 

“That’s never going to happen,” Cooper said immediately.

 

“Then, as I said, we have a problem.” Red was absolutely serious.

 

For a brief, self-involved moment, Liz wondered if this was because she’d been injured today. In each of the cases he’d mentioned, her life had been put in danger because the team had been noticed.

 

“Why now?” Liz spoke up. “Is this a way to control who goes out in the field?”

 

Did he want to pick and choose his own team of FBI agents, possibly ones he could influence?

 

Red laughed, but there was no humour in it. He kept his gaze fixed on Cooper. “How adorable,” he said. “I have no ulterior motive, here, Agent Keen. But I fear if agents start dropping like flies because they’re incapable of tailing a suspect, and civilians get taken down as collateral damage, your unit will be shut down due to basic incompetence.”

 

Ressler shifted uncomfortably next to her, and she saw Cooper’s back go rigid. The words stung, and they stung for all of them. The more so because they were true – there _were_ several cases where the team had been made and it had led to the death of an informant, or in one getting away. And yes, every time Red had pulled their asses out of the fire.

 

There had been internal debriefings and reviews, but being called on it by Reddington was embarrassing.

 

Cooper was apoplectic, with a terse “I’ll be in my office.”

 

“Do let me know your decision, Harold,” Red called after him.

 

Ressler turned to Liz and Meera and muttered a quietly strained, “Who the hell does Reddington think he is, coming in here and telling us how to do our jobs?”

 

“He thinks he’s Raymond Reddington,” Liz said wryly.

 

She could see Red watching them out of the corner of his eye from where he was still standing by the table a few feet away. As soon as Ressler shook his head and moved in the direction of the office, he came to join the two of them.

 

Meera just shrugged and said, “You’re right,” straight to his face.

 

That surprised a smile from him. “Well of course _I_ know I’m right, but I confess I wasn’t expecting anyone here to be appreciative of it.”

 

“It should be interesting,” Meera said.

 

“If Cooper agrees,” added Liz.

 

“Oh, he’ll agree,” Red murmured darkly, glancing up at Cooper’s office window. Following his gaze, Liz saw Cooper standing there watching them, face creased in a deep frown.

 

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to get this to our analysts.” Meera hefted a thin folder in explanation, and then walked towards the bank of computers at the other end of the site.

 

Cooper withdrew from the window, and when Liz looked down again she found Red’s piercing gaze fixed on her.

 

“Are you alright?” he asked in a low voice. She blinked.

 

“Yes, of course.” Her smile was insincere, but wobbled when she tried to fix it. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

He took a step closer, and caught her elbow, looking at her intently. His eyes sought out the raised lump on her forehead. “Because you were thrown into a brick wall by a man twice your size and almost shot. Are you alright, Lizzie?”

 

She wanted to hate Reddington - for framing her husband, for upending her life again and again. She _did_ hate him. But when all of his focus was on her, and he actually sounded like he cared…

 

After she’d hit the wall she’d been winded, badly, and cracked her head against it on her way down. For a minute or two afterwards she’d lain helplessly curled up on her side, barely able to breathe, with bright starbursts behind her eyes.

 

When one of the other agents had helped her up she’d been unable to fully straighten at first; her ribs were just bruised and not cracked, the EMT had told her though. She still felt as though someone had hit her repeatedly with a hammer, and she wanted nothing more than to go home.

 

She swallowed hard, and dropped the smile. “Just a bit of a headache.” His gaze didn’t waver. “And some scrapes. Nothing that a hot bath won’t fix.”

 

“Who was it this time?” At her puzzled look, “Who tipped them off this time, Lizzie.”

 

“Oh.” She shrugged uncomfortably and looked away. “I don’t even know, it was a big team.”

 

“Peters, it was Peters, wasn’t it?”

 

Her glance of surprise swiftly turned into a suspicious glare. “How could you possibly – you were there?”

 

His face remained cool, unmoved. “I wasn’t there, no.”

 

“But your people were, weren’t they? You had someone watching us?” she fired back.

 

In response to her rising tone, his grip firmed on her elbow and he started to steer her in the direction of the elevator. She shook him free after two steps and whirled, angry and hurt. And worse, she couldn’t even say that he had no reason not to trust them, because they kept cocking it up.

 

“Lizzie,” he said, voice placating. “Why don’t we discuss this at a-“

 

“This isn’t a discussion,” she hissed, and quickly brushed aside his hand as he reached for her again. He darted a surprised look down, and she wondered if he’d even realised he was doing it. “This is me asking a very simple question. _Were your people there?_ ”

 

His jaw clenched. “Yes,” he said shortly.

 

She nodded. “Have they been there every time?” He looked away, and squinted into the distance. “Red. Have they been there every time?”

 

Sighing, his eyes met hers again. “Whenever possible,” he replied, and now his voice was tired and lacking its usual dynamic tones. “I’ve instructed them not to interfere unless it’s truly necessary.”

 

 _And what would constitute that_ , she didn’t ask. She thought she knew the answer.

 

“I’m fine, Red,” she said softly instead, and this time the tug at the corner of his lips was real.

 

He slipped a small object into her hand as he left, and she looked down to find a bottle of Tylenol. Her hand formed a fist around it, and she sighed as she calculated the number of hours before she could have that bath.


	2. Chapter 2

Cooper couldn’t just bow to Reddington’s demands outright of course, but after a number of fraught discussions amongst the four of them and with his superiors he was willing to bend. Their own avenues of pursuit into their current blacklister were proving unfruitful, and Red had been in touch only to say that he would give them no further help on this one until he received an answer to his proposal.

 

Now, Liz watched as Cooper paced back and forth across the back of his office. His mood hadn’t improved since the day before, although after the last phone call it seemed mixed with resignation. Ressler stood a little straightener beside her as Cooper came to stand behind his desk, leaning forward on it and staring at the three of them as though he could force them to obey him through sheer force of will.

 

“Alright, this is what we’re going to do. Reddington is valuable, and the work we’re doing is good work. If he doesn’t trust our capabilities enough to work with us, to share more information with us, there’s every possibility this taskforce will be shut down. So we’re going to go along with this little game of his. Consider it extra training.

 

We can’t make everyone jump through his hoops, so it will be the three of you,” he continued, and Liz glanced at Ressler and Meera by her side, “and five of our other best agents. The eight of you will then be our core surveillance team for working with Reddington. This obviously limits our options when running ops, so the remaining agents will be backup teams for takedowns and other tasks.”

 

Ressler snorted. “He can’t tell us who to use. There’s no reason we can keep using other-“

 

The desk shook as Cooper slammed his hands down on it. “He’s not wrong,” he said harshly. “And for the day to come where I was taken to task over the performance of my agents by _Reddington_ …” He blew out an aggravated breath. “Well, we could damn well use some improvement. He’s a criminal; his team are trained to spot people exactly like us. This is an opportunity to learn how they work. _Am I understood_?”

 

They all nodded, and filed out of the room. “Reddington has him all twisted up,” Ressler said.

 

“Are you so confident of your own performance in this little exercise then?” Meera asked dryly.

 

“I think Reddington is running some kind of sick little game for his own advantage, and I don’t want to play,” Ressler replied seriously. “What do you think, Keen?”

 

Liz had been quiet until then, lost in her own thoughts. Now she refocused on the two of them, and found them staring at her expectantly. “I’m sure he has his own reasons,” she said flippantly. And then more slowly, “But I think anything that they show us will be useful too, and I’m not going to pass that up.”

 

\--------------------------------

 

“Excellent,” Red’s voice was smoky and pleased when she called him. “We should start as soon as possible.”

 

“How’s this going to work, anyway?” She maneuvered so that the phone was held between her ear and shoulder, and started sorting through the files on her desk. Ressler, at the other end of their shared office, glanced up in interest at her question.

 

“It’s been _years_ since I had to train recruits. This is going to be so much fun, Lizzie.”

 

“ _You’re_ going to train us?” she said, disbelieving. Ressler looked equally dubious on hearing her words. There was a notable pause on the other end of the line. “How long is this going to take, anyway? We’ve still got to take down Ford.”

 

“You let me worry about our blacklister,” Red’s voice came smoothly. “It’s a good point though – I won’t have time to train you all individually. Groups, perhaps, and then we’ll split you up and assign everyone-“

 

“I want to work with Dembe,” she said instantly, because she could see where this was going.

 

Ever since she’d drawn a line with Reddington, told him that she was only willing to deal with him for work and nothing more, he’d been subtly pushing her. Outwardly respecting her decision, yes, but she couldn’t help but notice the excuses he came up with to meet with her.

 

Was that was this was? A way to spend time with her?

 

God, she had turned into the most self-centred person on the planet since she started working with him.

 

“We’ll have to do an analysis of where everyone would be best placed,” he said, unruffled. “But I’ll tell Dembe that you think so highly of him. Dembe,” and she heard the slight dimming of Red moving the phone away from his ear, “Lizzie has requested to work with you specifically.” There was a rumbling voice in the background, Liz couldn’t make out any words. Red barked a laugh. “Yes, that’s what I said. Oh well.” His voice faded back in again. “Dembe would, of course, be happy to work with you, but we might need to start you out smaller.”

 

Her breath hitched before she got control of it, and she ducked her head slightly so that Ressler wouldn’t be able to see her face.

 

It burned more than she thought it would, Red belittling her – in however kind a way. At work she had been constantly bombarded with comments over the last few months; her lack of advanced training with firearms, her inexperience in the field or with tactical decisions. She didn’t know how many more times she could bite down on saying ‘ _This wasn’t supposed to be my job, and you’ve made no attempt to train me since you stole me away from my actual work_.’

 

Red had always been respectful of her abilities, had always said she was talented and special – admittedly to the point where it seemed like nothing more than outrageous flattery – but he said it like _he_ believed it. For him to say that she was under par somehow hurt more than all the rest of them.

 

On the other hand, at least he was giving her a chance to do something about it.

 

“I guess we’ll see,” she said firmly, and she could almost hear his fond smile.

 

“I’ll be in touch with the details, Lizzie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short chapter this time, I'm afraid - on to the actual training next!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The training begins!

“Okay,” Reddington said cheerfully, clapping his hands together.

 

It was a freezing morning in December, and none of them were feeling particularly enthused right now. Several of the agents beside Liz were grumbling and complaining. In contrast, every single one of Reddington’s people looked prepared and professional (at least in terms of attitude, if not in clothing. How many piercings did that guy _have?_ ).

 

The difference was striking, and slightly humiliating.

 

As senior agent, Ressler should have been the one to haul the agents back into line, but he instead had his hands tucked into his armpits, shivering slightly, and had been bitching for the prior ten minutes about Reddington being late.

 

She rolled her eyes, then cleared her throat loudly.

 

The muttering stopped, with a few brief coughs and shuffles, and the two sides faced each other squarely.

 

Red met her gaze, and his eyes crinkled approvingly.

 

“First we’ll work as a group,” he called out. He reached into a pocket inside his jacket and held up a picture, panning it around so that they could all see it. “This is your target. He’s in Franklin Square. As far as he knows, he’s waiting for a contact to show up so that he can make a rather legally dubious trade. He’s already been there for half an hour, so he’ll be getting twitchy. In another half an hour, at ten o’clock, he has instructions to go to the pay phone on the corner if no one has shown. _Your_ job is to monitor him, and obtain some kind of record of his conversation without – and I cannot stress this enough – tipping him off. Do you think you can do that?”

 

Liz was pretty sure every agent in the line gave him a death glare.

 

Red gestured to the side. “These fine men and women will be tailing _you_ during this exercise, watching your every move so that we get some idea of your strengths and weaknesses. Try and act naturally, however you normally would on one of your missions. Although, better would be nice.”

 

He gave them all a tight lipped smile. “Well, what are you all waiting for?”

 

\--------------------

 

It was a disaster, of course. They’d managed to hold it together for the first twenty minutes mainly by keeping their distance, then Ressler had ordered them to start gradually moving in and towards the phone they knew the target was going to be using.

 

Liz, who had bought a book with her, had shifted from her position on a park bench and moved with unhurried purpose towards the coffee stand at that end of the square. It was too far from the phone to hear anything, but, in the brief plan they’d sketched out on the way, she wasn’t supposed to be a primary contact anyway. Once she had the coffee she could drift as needed, and pretend to be wandering while on her mobile.

 

They never got that far though.

 

“He’s on the move,” she’d heard in her earpiece.

 

“Heading towards the north end.”

 

“Moving up on the west side.”

 

“Rogers, cross so that you keep a clear view of him. Peters, move up on the left.”

 

“I’m in position behind the pillar.”

 

“Wait, he’s-“

 

“Damn it, he made us.”

 

Several of them started to give chase, only to be brought up short by Ressler’s voice in their ear, reminding them that they weren’t actually after this guy. “We’re done here,” he said wearily.

 

They met Reddington back at the original spot, where he sat with a neutral expression which nonetheless managed to radiate smugness. “Poor Kenneth,” he said. “You managed to frighten the life out of him. I’ll probably have to pay him double for the next transaction. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

 

“He saw us,” Ressler said, tone surly.

 

“Yes, I think we all know that. And since it seems to keep happening, I’d like to work on the _how_. Anyone?”

 

“It was once we started moving,” volunteered one of the other agents. Liz was ashamed to realise she had already forgotten her name.

 

“Yes,” said Red encouragingly.

 

“It was fine to start with,” she continued, “but then he started looking around more, and somehow figured out…” she trailed off, and shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

 

“Anyone else?” asked Red, and Liz looked around the circle of them to find them standing with locked jaws and tight, frustrated expressions.

 

Liz had mostly been focused on her own part, but there was something she’d noticed out of the corner of her eye…

 

“It was when we started talking,” Liz said, suddenly sure. “We’re too obvious when we activate the mics.”

 

“And a gold star for Agent Keen,” Red said with a sunny smile. “Who, by the way, along with Agent Malik, was one of the better performers today – very natural. It’s a pity you two lovely ladies weren’t working together – I find you play off each other very well.”

 

Liz shot him a quick glare from under her eyelashes, given that he said he’d never been along for one of their ops himself.

 

“Donald, Donald.” Red shook his head sadly as he moved to stand in front of Ressler. “Stiff as a board. You’re like a cardboard cutout of an FBI agent, admittedly with slightly better hair. Rogers, you went too quickly from lonely man feeding pigeons to man walking with extreme purpose across the park.”

 

He carried on down the line, delivering one sentence condemnations of their most serious failures, and then turned back to encompass all of them. “Now, each of you was the focus of one of my own ‘agents.’ They will work with you individually to try and improve your technique. I would say don’t take this as criticism, but actually it really is.”

 

With a wave of his hand, the people standing with him distributed themselves amongst the FBI agents. Luli had gone to Ressler, Liz saw; now that was a conversation she would have paid money to listen to.

 

When she turned back, only Dembe was left, and Red had disappeared. She smiled slightly awkwardly, and he came to meet her. “I appreciate any advice you can give me,” she said, figuring that humble was the way to go here.

 

Dembe stared at her, unblinking, and without realising it her fingers drifted to trace the scar on her other palm. “Raymond wants you to be safe,” he said after a moment – possibly the most words together he’d ever said to her before.

 

“I can take care of myself,” she snapped instinctively, only to remember several times recently when that hadn’t been true. She blew out a breath and squinted up at him. God, he was tall. “Okay, I’d _like_ to think I can take care of myself,” she admitted.

 

He flashed her a grin, and the shocking white of his teeth against dark skin took her aback for a second. He’d never smiled at her before. It made him look… boyish. “We’d all like to think that,” he said, and then gestured away from the rest of the huddled pairs.

 

They headed down the street, her lengthening her strides to try and keep up with his long ones. “So?” she asked after a minute of silence.

 

His glance was considering. “Do you want to know just from today, or from the other times as well? Raymond told me that you knew.”

 

Her sigh this time was exasperated. “You might as well give me everything.”

 

“Your main problem is that you are not confident about what you’re doing.” She halted, and he turned and stopped with her. “Raymond was right – you are much more natural than the others. You are able to mimic what a ‘normal’ person might be doing in such a situation much better than most of them.”

 

“But?”

 

He shrugged. “You kept looking towards them, for approval, for direction. To check that everything was still going to plan. Raymond was also right about you working with Agent Malik – you don’t have that problem as much when you’re working with her. If you glance at her to check something, then it’s just friends having a conversation. When it’s strangers across a park, it looks odd. You have to be able to trust them to do their job, and they have to be able to trust you to do yours.”

 

“That makes sense,” she said slowly, trying to remember how things had gone in the square. “Is that why he noticed me today?”

 

“Today?” Dembe gave her another quick smile. “No. You were right about the earpieces. The others were much more visible than you.”

 

“But then, I didn’t say anything today,” she finished ruefully.

 

“True. You do the same thing, it’s something to watch for. I’ve noticed you disguise it as brushing your hair back before – try and play it like that more often.”

 

She nodded. “I forget. I mean, usually when something comes in it’s urgent, and I-“

 

“It will always be urgent,” he interrupted. “You must learn for it to be second nature. Here, we will practice.”

 

To her surprise he drew a pair of earpieces and mics out of his pocket. They both fitted them, and then he pointed out a random member of the public ahead of them.

 

“You’re going to tail him, and I’m going to give you instructions and ask you questions. This time I just want you to focus on being discreet with the headset, don’t worry about anything else. On the off chance that _this_ guy makes you, I’m afraid they may revoke your credentials.”

 

She gave him a grin in return, delighted by the sense of humour he was revealing, and sped her walk to go ‘practice.’

 

\---------------------

 

It had been unexpectedly fun. She’d worked on her walk, the way she surveyed an area, how to follow someone without ever quite looking at them, how to get in as close as possible and not trigger someone’s guard.

 

Dembe’s quiet, deep voice had been constant in her ear throughout, giving her tips without ever making her feel stupid, lightening the task with scraps of humour.

 

She’d trailed a banker (nervous, on his way to make a big deal), a lawyer (his phone call indicated he was being unfaithful), a mother with twins in a pushchair (George and Georgina), a scientist who’d been working in a park (some kind of chemistry she couldn’t have explained if she tried), and many more.

 

For each one Dembe had her do set up – watching them from a distance for a period of time to get an idea of their habits or destination, before moving in for more detail.

 

Once she confessed that she knew how to do brush passes, he also had her do quicker exchanges with people he picked only seconds before she passed them – the phone of the woman with the orange scarf, the wallet of the man with the briefcase. The weight of her badge in her pocket was a solid reassurance that she’d never had as a teenager – if she got caught now it would be much easier to lie her way out of it. She gave back everything she took, of course, calling after them and saying they must have dropped it.

 

And then there was Red. She’d noticed him almost as soon as she’d moved off on her own, and that was almost two hours ago. It had been just a feeling at first; she’d kept glancing out of the corner of her eye to try and find whatever was making her neck burn. But before long she’d made him out hidden behind a newspaper at an outside table at a café. She could only really see his arms as they held the newspaper, and the slightest hint of his waistcoat at the shoulders. She knew those arms though, and that way of sitting. Definitely Reddington.

 

After that she relaxed, and casually tracked him in the background as she went on with her tasks. Of course he’d want to watch – he had to get his entertainment from somewhere, after all. She would have expected him to be staring at her openly though, smirking at her and trying to distract her, but instead he was almost stealthy as he moved from spot to spot to observe her.

 

So in turn she didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge him at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on the fact that I think they look hilariously obvious when they activate their comms, and that always seems to be the point in the show when they get noticed. It's not my fault that the show made them all really bad at this!
> 
> Also, I never know what season it's supposed to be during various episodes, so I arbitrarily declare it... winter!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One new and improved FBI surveillance team!

“I’ve been told you’ve all made excellent progress,” Red announced when they gathered again.

 

Their team had just finished sandwiches from across the road, and having full bellies made them much more relaxed. There was no grumbling at all this time, though Liz wondered how much that had to do with being taken to task by a bunch of criminals.

 

“So we’re going to try again. Our friend from this morning has had his transfer rearranged. He is understandably far more nervous this time, and will be on the lookout. Peters, he definitely got a good look at you this morning, so I’m afraid you’ll have to wear a disguise.”

 

With a nod, Dembe stepped forwards with a hat, dark glasses and a cane. Peters looked at him for a moment as though trying to ascertain if this was a joke, before taking them and sliding the hat onto his head.

 

 It was a beret. He looked ridiculous, and Liz’s lips twitched in muted self-restraint.

 

“Alright,” Ressler said when they had the location. “Everyone got earpieces in?” Everyone nodded. “Everyone remember what _not_ to do with them?” Everyone nodded again. “Same plan as last time, less chatter.”

 

They headed out, towards a different spot this time, a park. Liz walked a little quicker until she came abreast of Ressler, who gave her a querying glance. “I’ve been told I work much better with Meera,” she said, and added, “Not just by Reddington.”

 

“You’ll need to be able to do this on your own, Keen,” Ressler sounded disapproving.

 

“I know that. But it also makes sense to play to our strengths. And I, for one, really want this afternoon to go smoothly.”

 

It had been the right tack to take; Ressler’s face tightened at the thought of being humiliated in front of Reddington again. “Alright,” he said. “Tell Malik. Same play as before, just together.”

 

She nodded, and dropped back to inform Meera.

 

\--------------------

 

It was… not a disaster. Though she tried not to spend too much time looking at her fellow agents, Liz did a couple of casual sweeps of the park while talking to Meera and saw that everyone seemed much less tense.

 

“Okay, mic practise run,” came Ressler’s voice in her ear. One big difference for this time through was that he was staying well back, coordinating them. “Now.”

 

Across the park they fiddled with their hair, adjusted glasses, tucked their head into their hand for a moment or turned aside.

 

“Nice, very nice. Okay, start moving into position, nice and easy.”

 

There was no coffee stall near the phone this time, but there _was_ a trash can. Liz nudged Meera in that direction, and scooped up a discarded water bottle from the ground as they walked along. Ahead of them, the target rose from his fidgeting next to the fountain, and started moving towards the phone.

 

“He’s moving quicker this time, he’s jumpy,” murmured Ressler. “Everyone stay slow, don’t rush. I’d much rather catch the tail end of the call than not hear it at all.”

 

Liz allowed her gaze to flick sideways just once, and saw Agent Thompson had made it to lean against the wall near the pay phone. He was bopping his head up and down absently to what Liz knew must be non-existent music, and the target reached for the phone without glancing at him more than once.

 

“Looks good,” Liz muttered to Meera. Meera, who had spent the last twenty minutes telling Liz all about the antics of her oldest child at school, gave her a quick smile.

 

“Don’t speak too soon,” she said back.

 

They reached the trash can and hovered while Liz pretended to finish her water. She glanced again, saw the man hang up the phone, saw Thompson reach up to casually readjust his headphones, and felt a rush go through her.

 

“Message was to check the trash can,” Ressler’s voice came hurriedly, repeating Thompson’s mumbled words. “Keen, Malik, you’re up. Don’t spook him, see what he does.”

 

Liz’s mind was racing. She was fairly sure it had been Red on the other end of that phone call, and he must be somewhere with eyes on them. He had just sent the guy directly towards them – why? To see how she did under pressure?

 

She casually tossed the bottle she was holding into the trash, and reached up to tap Meera’s shoulder. “I’m starving,” she said. “I missed lunch today. Sushi?”

 

“Sure,” said Meera, and turned at the slight flex of Liz’s fingers on her shoulder. She gamely pointed in the direction she was now facing. “There’s a great place on ninth.”

 

“Perfect.” Liz started moving, confident that Meera would follow, and accidentally bumped into the man coming the other way. “Sorry,” she called reflexively over her shoulder. “Come on, sushi calls,” she added to Meera.

 

“What are you doing?” hissed Ressler. “You’re supposed to stay with him.”

 

Liz was sure they were still in earshot of the target, so made no response. “Crap,” she said, coming to an abrupt halt and starting to pat her pockets. “My keys.” She started searching each pocket of her jacket and jeans, and then rechecking them again.

 

Meera shifted so that she had a perfect view of the man standing next to the trash can, and a few seconds later lifted her hand in what looked like an adjustment to her hair. “He’s taken a small black bag out of it,” she murmured.

 

“Alright,” Ressler said grimly. “We’re taking this one all the way. Thompson, Peters, move in. Keen and Malik, provide backup. Everyone else, discreetly move towards an exit. He shouldn’t be armed, but I damn well don’t want anyone hurt on a training exercise.”

 

Peters took down the guy smoothly, close enough to tackle him easily when he tried to run. It was oddly anticlimactic. Cuffed and being led out of the park, the guy was already babbling that he could be useful, that he could give them all kinds of names.

 

“Poor Kenneth,” Red’s voice came from right beside her and Liz spun, taken entirely off her guard. His hat shaded his eyes as he looked pensively after the man, but Liz thought she could see contempt there. “What a pity.”

 

“We got him,” Liz said, somewhat unnecessarily, and after a moment he turned and offered her a smile.

 

“Indeed you did. Well done. Did you get anything else?”

 

Meera watched with barely-concealed interest as Liz reached inside her coat and withdrew an envelope. Wallet and phone had seemed too obvious, but she’d made out the slight bulge at his breast and gone for the inside jacket pocket.

 

When Red reached for it, she drew it back a little, just out of his range. “What is it?” she asked curiously.

 

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to open it, and see for yourself?”

 

It had been tempting her from the moment she took it. Then again, for all she knew it would be a message in red ink saying ‘ _You shouldn’t touch other people’s things, Lizzie_.’

 

She held her position, and didn’t drop his gaze.

 

“It’s the combination of a safe. I won’t tell you what is inside, and I won’t tell you who it’s for.”

 

“It’s evidence.”

 

“Of what?” His voice turned merry. “A string of numbers on a piece of paper, Lizzie, that could be anything.”

 

“But you’re going to use it to commit a crime.”

 

“Me, no. I can’t guarantee what it will end up being used for-“

 

“Just stop,” she said in disgust, and looked him over critically. “Why did you even tell me? Why didn’t you just lie?”

 

“I will never lie to you, Lizzie,” and the quiet gravity of his tone made her doubly conscious of Meera still standing there, silently watching. A glance out of the corner of her eye showed the rest of the team starting to head in their direction.

 

“You say that,” she started angrily, “but how can we ever trust you-“ and she reached out and shoved him lightly “-to do anything other than what’s best for you?”

 

“Liz,” Meera’s voice came quietly, warningly, and Liz pulled away.

 

A few seconds later Ressler reached them. “Everything okay?” he asked, eying her and Reddington warily.

 

“The suspect dropped this,” Meera volunteered, and Liz held out the envelope. “Reddington believes it’s the combination to a safe, but says he doesn’t know anything else.”

 

“Really,” Ressler said suspiciously. Red spread his hands wide and gave them his best innocent look.

 

“Good work, by the way, all of you. Very improved. Clearly my idea was a wonderful one. I should add, however, that you all did a terrible job of realising you were being followed yourselves. You were all trailed, while you were doing your individual training, and not a one of you noticed.”

 

The corner of Liz’s mouth curled into the tiniest smile.

 

“Well,” Ressler said finally, “this wasn’t a complete loss.”

 

“You’re welcome, Donald.”

 

“Let’s head back, people.”

 

Everyone drifted away, and Liz was left standing with Red. “I noticed,” she said quietly. “I saw you hiding behind your newspaper, living the cliché.”

 

He chuckled, and reached out his hand slightly to the side to press her fingers with his own. “And I didn’t even have a fake moustache. But Lizzie, what makes you think that _I_ was the one watching you?”

 

Her smile faltered, and she searched his face as she tried to tug her fingers away. “You’re kidding?” she blurted.

 

He shook his head, eyes creased with amusement. “Not at all. You saw me, yes, but you completely missed the excellent and very talented Jenny, who came close enough to pick your pocket several times. Speaking of which,” he patted his breast pocket appreciatively, “thank you for this.”

 

“I’m enabling crime,” she muttered to herself disgustedly.

 

“Now, don’t frown, Lizzie.” His fingers squeezed hers lightly. “What if I were to tell you that the only thing in the safe was a particularly fine vintage of whisky, and that I promise to leave adequate compensation for it. The current owner is most obstinately refusing to give it up, despite having no appreciation for the finer things at all.”

 

The corner of her mouth twitched reluctantly. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

 

“That’s because you’re obstinate too.” Her hand was lifted, raised until it was held just in front of Reddington’s face. His eyes bored into hers. “But I meant what I said. I have never lied to you Lizzie, and I never will.”

 

The gravity in his voice, the earnestness of it, almost swayed her towards him. “You lied about Tom,” she tried, voice fragile, and his gaze held hers unwaveringly.

 

“Did I?”

 

She shied away from the intensity burning in his eyes, and seconds later felt a warm, soft touch to her knuckles. Her eyes darted back in disbelief to find Red’s lips pressed to the back of her hand, his eyes closed and his face smooth and relaxed.

 

That feeling of being his only focus, of him caring and of being safe in his care, rushed through her again and overwhelmed her. For a second she felt at the brink of tears, and wanted to withdraw her hand, to pull it back and slap him, to run away.

 

She’d never seen his face look like that though. Peaceful, longing. Her need to drink it in, to observe and catalogue every fascinating thing about him kept her still and waiting, almost holding her breath.

 

After ten seconds, twenty, his eyes opened. He pulled away, and his hand unclasped, and whatever she had seen there was gone, swept away and hidden.

 

“You did well today, Lizzie. Did you enjoy yourself?”

 

He’d made her feel valued, part of the team; a _good_ part of the team. “Yes,” she said, and smiled at him with her eyes. “It _was_ fun.”

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This brief indulgence is now over :)


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